


It'd Be Such a Shame If They Never Meet

by MrsSaxon



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Frank's dog - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I am upset Frank's dog is not its own character yet, Kastle Week, Song Fic Kinda, To be fair I had to come up with a name tho so, civilwarsinthekastle, soft-hearted grunting, the civil wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-10-26 11:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: My contributions to Kastle Week May 2017, many thanks to The Civil Wars





	1. Poison & Wine

**Author's Note:**

> These are loosely within their own continuity, each installment sort of building upon the last. It starts well after season 2, possibly after The Defenders as well, but probably before The Punisher will start.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” Frank mumbled as Karen helped sew the laceration on his cheek closed.

Karen snorted. “Please, Frank, we passed ‘sorry for the intrusion’ months ago.” She couldn’t resist rolling her eyes at his high-handed courtesy before she snipped the last of the stitches. “At least you used the front door this time,” she sighed, standing up from crouching in front of him at the bathroom mirror. “Coffee?” she called over her shoulder, walking out of the room.

“No, thank you, ma’am.” Frank declined the offer while peering at himself in her mirror. Her stitches were getting better and better each time, which reminded him… this should really be the _last_ time. This… showing up at her place, letting her follow him around on missions, coffee… it all had to stop.

“Too bad, you’re getting a cup!” Karen sang out from the kitchen and he could hear the water already starting to bubble. Frank grimaced and ignored the stabbing pain in his face as he did it. He really, really had to end this, whatever it was, now.

Frank washed his face, sponging off as much blood as he could, and tried to make himself as presentable as possible before stepping out of the bathroom. At least he had on a clean shirt, although the fact that she _kept_ a clean shirt around for him was disconcerting all on its own.

By the time he walked out, a large cup of a rich, dark roast was sitting out for him. His favorite, he could tell. Frank swallowed hard before gingerly taking the mug in his hands.

“Something wrong, Frank?” Karen frowned, watching him from over her own cup in the opposite corner of the kitchen. She stood in loose shorts, legs crossed comfortably, posture sunken into repose. Utterly relaxed in front of the Punisher. Half of him was so glad she wasn’t afraid of him anymore; half of him wished she still was.

Frank shook his head once. “Nothing, ma’am.” He lifted his cup and sipped. Smokey, bitter, reminiscent of a wind-chaffed morning in late November; damn, it _was_ his favorite. She was stocking his favorite coffee now. He groaned.

“Bullshit it’s nothing,” Karen answered, setting her cup down on the counter, “c’mon Frank, talk to me. Was there someone who got away tonight?”

Useless lying to her. He shook his head. “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t be here talking and drinking with you if there was,” he murmured.

“Then what is it?” She blinked up at him, all wide, blue, beseeching eyes. Like she wanted something from him. Like she thought he had anything worth wanting. Something inside Frank crumpled.

Frank bowed his head. “I think I better go.” He sedately put his mug back on the counter with hardly a sound, not having taken either hand off it since he picked it up. He turned away, halfway out of the kitchen. “I just remembered, Micro wanted me to check up on this electronics supply store, said their foot traffic doesn’t match their books.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly critical either.

“Yeah, sure, except that’s not why you’re leaving.” Karen flew around in front of him and, literally, put her foot down. “You’re not leaving my apartment until you tell me what’s going on, Frank. Am I in danger, is that it?”

Frank met her eyes. “Would I run out on you if that was the case?” He was almost insulted by this line of questioning.

“Then, for the love of god, _tell me_ what’s really going on!” she begged, exasperated with him.

He hung his head, unable to meet her eyes. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He could almost feel her face fall, her heart… no, he wouldn’t think about it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she returned in a tone that would pass for snide if it wasn’t quavering, just a little.

He rolled his head up to look at her again in lieu of a response. She exhaled in defeat. She swallowed and licked her lips, “But-”

“But nothing,” Frank growled, “I’m in your way. It’s time for me to go.”

“Oh ho ho, you’re in _my_ way? Sure doesn’t seem that way,” Karen argued, planting herself between Frank and the door, just as he moved to brush past her.

“Please, ma’am.” Frank swallowed, eyes on the door.

“Nope, you still haven’t given me a reason for wanting to leave, other than some misguided ideas about protecting me from-”

“And what about Red, huh?” Frank snapped.

Karen’s face drained. “Wh-what?”

“What about him? He’s never around, you’re never at his place. You spend more time with me than you do with him and that ain’t right.” He hadn’t meant to do it like this. He hadn’t meant for it all to come out, but… here it was. He looked away from her, stepping back, knowing he’d spoken out of turn.

Karen didn’t speak for several breathless seconds. “Is _that_ what this is about?” she whispered, “This is about Matt?” She looked past him, into the middle distance, unseeing.

“You love him-”

“I don’t,” she started, rocking back into herself.

“You what? Of course you do,” Frank shook his head, “Don’t bother denying it.”

“I _do not_ Frank Castle, and don’t you dare presume to tell me how I feel,” she ordered, the blue in her eyes hot with fire now, “I _thought_ I loved him… once. But a lot’s changed since then. I’ve changed.” She swallowed, folding her arms around herself. “So, if this is about-”

“Changed? Changed how? What… what do you mean changed?” Frank looked at her, not comprehending. What could possibly have grown so rotten between them that it would tarnish love?

Karen stared out through her window, into the endless dark of the city, and blew a long breath, puffing her cheeks and fluttering her hair. “Matt… doesn’t see people as they are, he sees them how he wishes them to be,” she spoke softly, “and I can’t be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t see me for me.” She finished, pulling her gaze back from the night, into her apartment and the present moment and onto Frank’s face, waiting for his answer.

Unfortunately, having fought Red over that very problem, Frank couldn’t really argue with that. “Can’t you… make him see you?” he tried.

“Nope,” she shook her head, “I can’t. And even you know he doesn’t love me either if he’s not seeing me.”

Frank grunted. He considered bashing Red’s skull into the concrete just to tell him what a fool he was being.

“So Matt can’t be your reason for leaving,” Karen cocked her head at him, still firmly planted in front of the door, “if you _do_ really want to leave.” And she did not sound like she was buying that at all.

Frank’s jaw tightened. He sighed through his nose, setting his shoulders back before looking at her. “You know, let me ask you something, why do you want me to stay, huh?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Karen spat at him, “I ask you why you want to go and you come back with why do I want you to stay? That goes without saying!”

“Then why is it?” Frank squared up to her.

“Because you’re my friend! Because I happen to enjoy your company, that’s it! It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she paused, then her eyes narrowed, “and I don’t see why you’re acting like it should be.”

He swallowed and wet his lips, trigger finger twitching hard. “Because I’m the Punisher and I don’t have any friends.”

“Oh God…” Karen threw her head back, hands on her hips, “ _Frank_ , come on.”

“Or did you forget that?” he overrode her, “Did you forget that I’m still a wanted criminal for over four dozen counts of murder? That I didn’t get these cuts and bruises in some kind of accident? That the dust I track in is grave dirt? That everyone I ever see is being put in danger? That I am no one’s friend.”

She just shook her head. “Then why come here at all? If I’m really in that much danger, why would you put me there? Hmm?” Karen swallowed. “See I don’t buy any of that crap. You’ve saved me too many times for me to believe you’d voluntarily put me at risk. So why, Frank? If what you say is true, that I’m in grave peril just associating with you, why risk it?”

“Because I like you,” he whispered, almost without conscious thought. His face fell, betrayed by his own words.

The air stilled between them. Karen blinked hard. “Then isn’t that why you should stay?”

“It’s why I should go.” Frank lifted his eyes, meeting hers.

“No,” Karen insisted, “no, Frank, I won’t accept that.”

Frank shook his head, taking a half step back. “You deserve better, ma’am.”

“And you deserve friends!” Karen pleaded with him, “God, sometimes you and Matt are just alike.”

Frank snapped up straight like she’d just pulled a tension line in his back. “What?” he grumbled.

“You’re so wrapped up in your own guilt, you push everyone away from you,” she took a step towards him, “and if you do that, you’ll kill yourself, you both will. The only difference is Matt won’t let anybody in, but you… you do.”

Frank hung his head. He shouldn’t have though. He shouldn’t have let her in. It wasn’t fair to her.

She took another step towards him. “That wasn’t weakness, Frank, I know you know that. You need people to survive-”

Frank barked a laugh, shoulders shaking as he continued facing the floor.

“Okay, maybe you don’t care about that, maybe you _want_ to kill yourself a little bit, but I do. I care if you survive.” She kept coming closer, not giving him the option of fleeing. She would have made a ruthless tactician. “I choose to be your friend.”

Frank rubbed under his nose, looking aside. “The risk-”

“I accept,” Karen interrupted firmly, standing right in front of him now. He had no choice but to look her in eye.

“What if…” he could barely speak, “What if I can’t keep you safe?” He could feel himself start to go with a tremor centered in his chest and radiating outward. He’d never said that before, out loud. He’d hardly dared to think it.

She was quiet. He held still, as still as he could, waiting for her response. Karen drew a deep breath. “It won’t be your fault if you can’t,” she nodded, “I’m sure of that if I’m sure of anything. It would never be your fault. You’d save me or die first.”

“You fucking bet I would,” he choked on the laugh, wiping his eyes before the tears could get too far.

“I know you would, I know.” And she smiled, watery and glowing in his sight. Bright like a shining star.

She reached out to him, rubbed his shoulder. “Come on, your coffee’s getting cold.” She half pulled him to the kitchen. And he stayed.


	2. Dust to Dust

Eleven o’clock at night was not the most reassuring time to hear a knock at the door. The noise startled Karen so badly she had to remind herself to breathe for a few seconds before she could move. She crept to her drawer where she kept the .380 before stepping up to the door. She peered in the view hole to see a familiar shaved head.

“Frank!” Karen’s eyes widened as she opened the door, grip on the gun immediately lax. She took him in as she swung open the door; he was clean, no recent blood or bruises, no visible weaponry. He actually looked slim, or as slim as Frank Castle could look.

Her eyebrows creased, not understanding. “What’re you doing here?” True, he hadn’t been by in awhile, but he’d told her that. He’d said he had to travel, that he’d be busy the next few weeks, so she hadn’t worried. But he showed up now, like this?

Frank was hanging his head sheepishly, hands clasped in front of him, and looked up only when she asked. “Can I come in?” he grunted, not holding eye contact.

“Of course, you can, of course.” Karen shook her head, swinging the door wide open and stepping back to let him in. She frowned, trying to put together the puzzle of his behavior.

Frank pushed in without his customary aching politeness, leaving a gust of air in his wake and Karen more confused than before. But as she turned to him, before she could form a word to ask what this was all about, he pulled her into his arms.

“Fr- Frank!” Karen stood rigid, shocked by the display. He was… hugging her. And there was no hail of bullets, no loud voices and heavy boots, no lights and sirens; just her door half hanging open behind her for all the world to see the Punisher hugging Karen Page with a gun limp in her hand.

Karen gulped, feeling she really should close her door or put down the gun or… something. But Frank himself seemed unconcerned with the manifold risks. He held onto her, enveloped her close. As Karen gathered herself to make a coherent statement about what was happening, she felt his face shift, close to hers, conscious of the weight of his chin on her shoulder. His cheek brushed against her cheek, under the curtain of long blonde hair, and oh. Now she could feel his breaths, deep and sure, blow past her ear. She could feel the just-shaved-rough of the hairs on his cheek and the soft skin underneath and, if she focused hard enough, the faint scent of his aftershave, something plain and clean that reminded her of spring. She tried not to focus.

It was only when the gun clattered to the floor that Karen jerked back and realized she had completely relaxed in his arms, grown accustomed to his heat and his breathing and his solid weight against her. She felt weirdly clammy down her front even though she’d felt fine seconds before. She felt for the door behind her and closed it quickly, locking it by touch as her eyes refused to focus on anything, staring into space as she tried to make sense of being hugged by Frank Castle.

“Um, I’m sorry,” Frank cleared his throat and murmured, “I got carried away.”

Karen forced her eyes closed and shook her head. When she opened them, she could focus on him again. “Did something happen, Frank?” She swallowed, her stomach tensing as she prepared for the worst.

“No, it’s not like that.” Frank shook his head with a sigh. He pushed his hands into his pockets, a reluctant posture she hadn’t seen on him before, and he looked away, distance in his gaze.

“I’m just back, you know?” he explained, “I’m back, only there’s nothing to come back to. No home. And I just-” He broke off to scratch the back of his neck, his eyes racing across the floor, searching for the words. “I missed having a home to come back to.” He looked up finally, face tilted away from her, but visible, letting her look. The look on his face was a look Karen remembered well; it was the same way he always looked when he was thinking of his family and remembering that they were gone.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I’m back.” In a blink, his face shifted, suddenly alive, eyes sparkling, looking at her, a small quirk to his lips like he had amused himself. “Next time, I won’t scare you so bad.” He nodded to himself and prepared to walk back out again.

“I wasn’t scared,” Karen blurted without thinking, preoccupied with the fact Frank had come to her because he missed home.

Frank stopped and set his weight back on his heels. He cocked his head to watch her, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“I get it, actually,” she nodded, returning to her statement, “I do, missing home, not feeling like you have anywhere to belong. That’s how I felt before I met Matt and Foggy.” She swallowed, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Frank said nothing, but waited for her to continue.

She cleared her throat. “So, I know how important it is to have a sense of home, somewhere to come back to,” she met his eyes, “I’m glad you came to me.”

He looked away first and shifted his weight a little, sliding one foot back so he stood unevenly, contemplating further movement.

“I’d like it if you stayed,” Karen said quickly, before Frank could make up his mind if he wanted to leave or not, “for a little while at least. And feel at home. I’d like it if we could do that.”

Frank started at the word ‘we’; she could see it on his face, the surprise, the uncertainty, the quiet pleasure. But he didn’t question her on it and she was grateful for that. He just grunted after a moment and nodded.

“Alright.” Karen permitted herself a small smile, not sure what she’d just signed up for, but trusting it regardless. “Go, sit, relax,” she shooed him as she bent down to pick up the gun and put it away again, “Can I get you anything? Water or coffee?”

Frank shook his head, taking a hesitating step towards her couch. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

Karen frowned, closing the drawer hiding her gun again. “Um, Frank,” she turned around to face him, “You can relax, you can call me Karen.”

“Karen?” Frank repeated, getting a feel for it.

She nodded quickly. “Yep, it’s um… what I’m called at home.” She knew she wasn’t quite smiling, nerves and memories fighting her. But when she darted a glance at Frank, she knew he understood.

Frank nodded slowly. “Karen,” he murmured, this time with approval. No more ma’am now, at least, not at home. Karen felt her lips turn up into a true smile for that.

She walked over to her laptop and unplugged it before walking back to Frank and pushing him towards the couch. “Sit, sit, I’ll order you if I have to.”

Frank snorted and Karen caught the smile drawn from him as he obediently sat down next to her. Settling in herself, Karen intentionally pressed close to him before opening her laptop and frowning at her web browser for a moment.

“So, do you think there’s anything good on Netflix?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno how many of you are reading along, but just in case, there will not be a new chapter on Wednesday. Neither of the songs were speaking to me. But, to make up for it, hopefully Thursday's chapter will be especially sweet and gooey and there will be an extra prequel chapter at the end c: So there's that.


	3. I've Got This Friend

Falling in love with Frank Castle was a terrible idea.

Just on the face of it, it was a terrible idea. For one thing, he was a wanted criminal with the threat of being caught and jailed for life or potentially executed for the seriousness of his crimes. That threat would always hang over him and any relationship he ever had. For another, he was a vigilante, actively putting his life in danger every day and adding yet more crimes to his already staggering track record. If the authorities didn’t catch up to him, there was always a chance a criminal with a vendetta would. On top of that was the fact that his last relationship hadn’t ended so much as been cruelly and viciously snuffed out, an event from which Frank emerged wifeless, childless, and with a bullet in his brain, the cherry atop of the sundae of woe.

So, yeah, falling in love with this active crime scene was not the brightest idea anyone had ever had. But Karen was very much afraid that was exactly what she was doing.

Karen tapped her pen against her teeth. She should be thinking about this article that Definitely Was Not about the growing vigilante problem in New York, but she kept getting distracted by thoughts of Frank. She straightened in her chair and pulled her eyes down to her notepad only to find a few scant notes on the general justification of vigilantes, rather than the terrible surge in violent crimes that had spurred such people into action. There were the ninja attacks in Hell’s kitchen, the veritable war zone in Harlem, the myriad beatings and explosions and… shootings. And, true, the collateral damage of vigilantes could be extensive, but it was in response to unprecedented threats. And if it was effective, if it saved lives, if, maybe, there was no other way to stop this violence…

No, this was not supposed to be a vigilante piece, she was gaining too much of a reputation as the vigilante spokesperson as it was. She just wanted to write about the crimes, the Hand, and Kilgrave, and the Stokes family, and someone called Willis Stryker. That man alone was responsible for half the hell Harlem had seen. She’d heard about the Judas bullets, that they could bring down a man like Luke Cage or collapse an entire building with one shot. Those bullets could _not_ be let loose on the streets. They shouldn’t even exist, there was no way that kind of destructive power could be managed responsibly, and if they fell into the wrong hands… Maybe Frank… and there she was, back to thinking about him again. There was just no way away from him. All roads lead to Frank. And she wouldn’t think about how her heart skipped a beat at the prospect.

She just missed him; that was all. She was just eager to talk to him. Maybe he’d have some insight about these Judas bullets, maybe he’d know who was manufacturing them, who was distributing. Maybe he could keep them safe. If she trusted anyone with them, it was Frank.

Her eyes moved to her phone and she chewed her lip, resisting the impulse to pick it up. He’d given her no number, no means of contacting him at all. And not, for the first time, she found she _hated_ the radio silence. Not because she wanted to keep track of him or anything, not because she worried about him, just because he was useful in situations such as this. It’d be handy to have his number. That was all.

She could just hear it now though, the lecture on safety, if anyone found out they were connected. He had to protect her from both criminal and legal prosecution. One of them had to stay on the right side of the law, he’d said. Them. And he might have meant the conglomerate of vigilantes that were now depending on her journalism, but. He also could have just meant personally: them.

But, that was why no calling, no texting, no emailing. He dropped in when he pleased with no warning and she could like it or not. Occasionally, she’d considered leaving him out in the cold, at the very least on principle. But it wasn’t like Frank behaved this way to be rude. He always asked before coming in, he always gave her the option to say no. She knew he meant it. He always apologized for his arrivals, even if not with his words. He was so damn courteous and polite it was hard to show him the door.

But what if she had company? And she could! She could… date someone, invite someone over. How would that look if the Punisher just knocked on her door while she had someone there? Of course, Frank probably would already know if she did. And he’d find a tactful way to cover it even if he didn’t. But she savored the idea of getting to tell him off, just once. Of seeing maybe a little jealous flash in his eyes, a disappointed slump in his shoulders that she was already with someone. And that would be just…

“How’s that crime report coming?” Ellison ducked his head inside.

Karen dropped her pen, scrambling. “It’s coming, it’s coming,” she nodded quickly, “Just… slowly.”

“I need it Friday, otherwise I’m giving that front page slot to Gina,” Ellison nagged, “and it’s an important article, I’d hate to relegate it to the middle where fifteen retirees will see it and be terrified.”

Karen snorted. “Everyone should be terrified, Mr. Ellison. Crime isn’t what it used to be.” She shook her head at her newly straightened papers.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” her editor rolled his shoulders, stepping back from her door, “well, I hoped it was done by now, but I also came to tell you to get out of the building for lunch. It’s pest control season, so unless you brought your own oxygen tank, I suggest you get out for a while. We don’t need another journalist falling to roach killer.”

“Another…? I’m not gonna ask.”

“Safest not to,” Ellison nodded, “Get outside, clear your head, then get back to work, Page.” So saying, with his usual chipper attitude, he left.

Karen tapped at her notepad a moment longer. Well, she certainly wasn’t gaining anything staying here until the pest control arrived. Might as well pack up her bags and head out for lunch, like her boss suggested.

Outside, she realized she’d been missing the sunlight. It was an unusually temperate day in Hell’s Kitchen, still early in the season before it could become too sweltering to walk through, but the sun had lost its pronounced winter glare too. It was, in fact, what one might call spring. Karen inhaled deeply and immediately regretted it, the city fumes setting her coughing. Perhaps a park was in order.

It felt somewhat disingenuous to drive to a park, but that was more a testament to the Bulletin not being built close to any green space than any laziness on her part. Besides, now she was so close to home, she could just slip back inside and work on her laptop rather than return to the office and cope with fumigation smells. But a park had definitely been a good idea, everything was bright and green, people were out exercising or walking their dogs or complaining about allergies. There was no pleasing some people.

Karen started walking, intending to work up an appetite as she made up her mind for lunch. Maybe Thai, that was always a good standby, or a deli. Maybe she should text Foggy for ideas, he always had the inside scoop on the best delis around. But as she reached into her bag for her phone she was distracted by a big, grey pit bull coming up beside her, smiling up at her and wagging its tail ferociously.

“Why, hello there!” She had to stop and say hello to such a handsome fellow. The moment she stopped and bent down to pet it, the dog nearly leaped into her arms, butting its big head under her hands and demanding pets. Karen, obediently, fisted its ears into her hands and scratched at the rolling folds. Just as she looked up to scan for the owner, someone behind her called, “Max!”

Max looked towards his owner promptly, but didn’t budge. Not that Karen was paying attention anymore, knowing exactly who had called out, recognizing precisely who was walking up behind her, strolling even, leisurely as you please.

Karen picked her jaw up off the floor and hoped very much that at that distance Frank couldn’t make out her dumbfounded expression with any clarity. She stood up straight, brushing herself off needlessly as she schooled her face into looking just as nonchalant as Frank clearly was in his plain white shirt and denim jacket and stupid insufficiently obscuring ball cap. Or maybe it was just she knew his face so well that she could read those shadows anywhere.

“I didn’t know you had a dog,” she said quickly, swallowing as Frank came to rest in front of her.

Frank’s eyebrows rose. “Hello to you too, ma’am.” He inclined his head slightly.

Karen grimaced, upset with her own nerves. She exhaled, forcing herself to relax. “Hello, Frank,” she said softly and even managed a polite smile, feeling better now that he’d greeted her. “I… didn’t expect to see you.” She shrugged, still flummoxed by his appearance.

“I didn’t expect to see you either,” Frank agreed, reaching down to put Max back on the leash, “aren’t you normally at work now?”

“Yes, I am, but the building’s being fumigated, so…” Karen trailed off, something in what Frank said caught in her brain. “Um, do you… normally walk Max here?” She cocked her head at him as her brain helpfully reminded her just how close this park was to her front door.

Frank shrugged, not looking at her. “Sometimes, it’s a nice park,” he offered, starting to walk Max again, Max glancing eagerly between Karen and Frank before trotting forward.

Karen stepped up to keep pace with him. “So no dog parks close to where you’re staying?” she pressed.

Frank shrugged again and shook his head. “One, about as far away as this, why?” He looked across at her under the ball cap.

Two could play that game. Karen shrugged with unnecessary flair. “No reason.” She smiled to herself, looking down at her feet. “So, you have a dog, huh?”

“Yeah, picked him up from the Irish,” Frank sighed, looking down at Max.

Karen looked at the dog again and this time noticed the nicks and scars on his neck and ears and in places down his body where he hadn’t quite fattened up yet. “This was a fight dog?” she murmured.

Frank nodded. “Couldn’t leave him there. Everyone’s got the wrong idea about pit bulls; even if they sent him to a no-kill shelter, he never would have been adopted. So I took him.” Frank’s lips quirked. “Sorry you’re stuck with me, buddy.” Max looked back at Frank, open-mouthed and panting, and blinked at him before turning forward again.

Karen smiled. “I don’t think he minds being yours.” She looked up at Frank in time to catch a small smile grace his healing lips. Blink, and she would have missed it, but she was getting better at catching Frank Castle off guard.

They kept walking, but Max was starting to get tired. “Let’s sit for a minute,” Frank said, slowing to come up to a bench and sit down. Karen sat beside him and was struck again, watching Frank pat his dog, relax on the bench. For a moment, she allowed herself to think of him as he was before all this, the father and husband and just man he must have been.

Frank tilted his head to her, the light catching his curious gaze. “What?”

Karen shook her head, embarrassed to be caught staring. “It’s just weird, I guess, seeing you here, like this, out in daylight, no guns, with a dog,” she mumbled, gesturing to Max who was in the middle of laying down at Frank’s feet.

The relaxation, so rarely seen on Frank, dissipated and the Punisher was all too visible again. Karen swallowed, regretting putting him on edge. Frank straightened up. “I’m sorry you-”

“It’s nice!” she interrupted. Frank blinked.

“I didn’t mean weird bad, I meant- I wished I got to see you more like this, less armor and bullets and blood, more… just Frank.” She stopped, then immediately worried she’d said too much, feeling a blush rising in her cheeks; she turned away.

“Just Frank, huh?” Frank rumbled beside her, warm and soft. “I like that,” he murmured.

Karen swallowed hard and tried to will the blood out of her cheeks. This was… that was not what she meant to- Well, she’d said it now, too late. “Well,” she gulped, looking straight in front of her at the kids chasing around the big oak across the sidewalk, “we can at least agree this is quieter.”

Frank chuckled and Karen turned to him, surprised to hear him laugh. Watching him laugh, she grinned too and joined in.

Frank leaned forward, still smiling. “You know, that’s not usually the first thing people say about a lack of gunfire.” He squinted up at her, his lips curved up.

Her lips twitched upwards too. “Like you already know, I’m not most people.” She smiled at him fully and felt a weight in her chest ease. She couldn’t have smiled at that with anyone else in New York. But with Frank, somehow it didn’t hurt to talk about it. She wasn’t sure this really counted as talking about it, but it was as close as she got.

Frank nodded and leaned back. He exhaled deeply, preparing to get up. “Max and I should go-”

“Wait!” Karen almost reached for him, shifting hard in her seat to face him. Frank paused, unhurried, looking at her intently.

“I haven’t had lunch yet and I was thinking about taking the rest of the day off anyway,” she wet her lips quickly, “you wanna come have lunch with me? You and Max.” She looked down at Max who, hearing his name, looked up and wagged his tail. “And as I don’t know any dog-friendly restaurants, it’s your choice.” She smiled, ignoring the way her foot was anxiously bouncing.

Frank looked down, tapping his finger against the bench. “There’s a little Italian deli down the block,” Frank jerked his head, indicating the direction, “got good Genoa salami and outdoor seating.” He raised his eyes, a question evident in his expression even though she was the one who’d asked him to lunch.

Karen’s heartbeat quickened, just a little. “I was just thinking I could go for a good grinder.” She restrained herself from smiling too hard. In her fluster, she didn’t notice Frank looking away as he stood up so she couldn’t read his too-telling face either.

“And now I’ll finally have some place to recommend to Foggy,” she sighed, following Frank down the sidewalk.

“Oh yeah? How is Nelson, esquire?”

“Rich, now, no thanks to you.” Karen rolled her eyes to him.

Frank winced. “Yeah, um… tell him I’m sorry?”

“No, trust me, he’s happier never hearing from you again.”

“Can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, this took awhile ^^; next chapter MAY be delayed, we'll see! I'm gonna try!


	4. To Whom It May Concern

“This is the last of it?”

“This is the last of it,” Frank confirmed, packing the last bags into the back of the truck and shutting the trunk hard, “make sure all of these get destroyed. Hey, _all_ of them.” He glared at Micro, impressing upon him what would happen if Frank ever found out that any component of these Judas bullets were to be reused.

Micro held up his hands. “They’re gone, humanely diffused,” he claimed, opening the driver’s door and sliding in.

Frank’s boots squeaked on the wet asphalt as he stepped up to the door after him. “If I find so much as the shells resold-”

“There’ll be nothing left of them, Frank, I swear,” Micro sighed, nonplussed by Frank’s glowering. He leaned back in the seat, tapping his hands on the wheel. “I’ve got a nice supply of liquid nitrogen for the occasion and a chemical bunker, just in case I have to use something stronger. Who knows what this alien shit does,” he sneered in the direction of the kilos and kilos of lethal weaponry behind him.

“Good,” Frank growled, then stepped back, deciding to relax. He didn’t need to give Micro such a hard time, probably.

“Hey, if you’re so worried about them, tell me again why you’re not coming on this disposal?” Micro leaned over his shoulder to cock his head at Frank.

Frank glanced up at his associate, then cleared his throat. “I’m needed in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“C’mon, Frank,” Micro rolled his eyes, shaking his head, “Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t need you; it’s got the kid with the horns and the freak detective. What do you want to be going back there for? What’s waiting for you?”

Frank swallowed. Micro’s wording cropped up unbidden pictures of the city at night and one particular apartment building with one particular lighted window with a fire escape just outside it and the implication that someone could be waiting for him- Frank blinked and his mind was cold and blank once again. “Scum needing punishment is what’s waiting for me.”

Micro snorted. “Yeah, well you enjoy it big guy. I’ll read about it in the papers.”

Frank pursed his lips. If this kept up much longer he was going to consider himself teased. And shortly thereafter, Micro was going to be reminded how much he _loved_ being teased.

But Micro was starting the engine and shutting the door. If he really did mean anything by his pointed questioning and reference to papers, the earful he was going to get would have to wait until he got back.

Micro nodded to Frank through the mirror and Frank raised a hand, waving him off. A few more minutes of engine growls and Micro was gone. Frank blew a long breath, glad to have those bullets on their way to destruction. Now he just had to find who had commissioned those bullets in the first place. Destroying the caches was an immediate solution; destroying the manufacturing plants was even better. But this problem wouldn’t be solved until he took out whoever had the bright idea to invent these.

Frank walked away from the wet tracks on the asphalt, nearly invisible already. His job was only half done here; there were still many people to find, interrogate, kill. But his frustration with an unfinished job felt secondary to the relief of the bullets being out of his hands and this part of the job being over. He’d meant what he said to Micro: he was needed in Hell’s Kitchen. He was… looking forward to going back.

 _“What’s waiting for you?”_ Micro’s words taunted him. Micro knew he’d lost his family there, that his life went to shit there. Micro, of course, would be stunned that he wanted to go back there, that he had any reason to.

Frank had walked clear across the parking lot and down the lonely road from the warehouse to where he’d parked his own car. The long, quiet walk was doing him good, the air wet and mild from recent rain. It was the savage side of spring here. The driving rain hadn’t stopped for days, bringing the temperature down to the 40s when it had been damn near 80 when he walked through the park with Karen last week. He remembered it had been quite warm with how much Max panted, with the way her cheeks burned, turning positively rosy. They’d all felt a little warm then.

He opened his car door and got in. It _would be_ good to get back to Hell’s Kitchen, now that he thought about it. Perhaps he did have a bias for it. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, anxious to get moving. Part of him, at least, really wanted to head back there. The city was starting to feel familiar, starting to feel like a home. He knew which buildings to watch. He knew which businesses were thriving. He knew what criminals and syndicates to expect and how to take them out. And being there, in the heart of it, the pulse of the city, it was starting to feel like home. Like he could claim he knew where he was again.

The car was already in gear and he was already peeling out, looking for the interstate. His trigger finger tapped at the wheel, then reached for the stereo. He flicked through the stations until he heard something familiar, with a strong back beat and a lot of guitar. And a woman’s voice, singing sweet enough to bring a smile to his face.

His mind settled into the hum of the song and his thoughts drifted. Untethered, before he knew it he was back at that lighted window, lingering outside on the fire escape, like a pigeon, like a gargoyle, like a shadow. She’d be inside, on her eighth cup of coffee, flitting between rhythmic tapping on her laptop and frustrated scribbling on her notepad. She worked like a busy bird, surrounded by a nest of research, constantly rearranging the pieces until it was just right. And here he was, some big, scruffy invader, on the edge of her nest, uninvited. He should go. And yet…

He knew, if he were to tap her window, she might let him in. She might smile in recognition. She might be glad to see him and offer him coffee. He wouldn’t take it. He’d refuse with all his might, already trespassing too far into her world. It was too much to bear to stay there, almost a part of it. She’d force the cup on him anyway, with the sweetest insistence. She’d tease him, badger him, complain to him. Somehow, he’d forget he was trespassing. He missed her, desperately.

The station changed. It was now playing something bluesy and bitter and not his mood at all. He blinked out at the interstate; he’d missed his exit, shit. His imagination seemed not to care, playing out that warmth in her space a little longer, hovering on the borders of a golden daydream. And oh, _fuck_. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He was fucked now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know if anyone's been waiting on this to be updated, but... hey! ^^; Sorry it's been so long, but I've really liked writing this. So... have it ^^;


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